Promise of the Jedi
by Princess Tyler Briefs
Summary: AU. 10 years after the purge of the Jedi, Qui-Gon Jinn finds himself alone and disillusioned, trying to atone for past mistakes. Fate has bigger plans for the galaxy’s most wanted man, however, and it might just take a 12-year-old boy to change him.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I fall asleep watching the movie 'Next' and this is what comes out. I really should fall asleep watching movies more often.

This first chapter is slow and probably THE most boring 2,500 words I've ever written. Involves a lot of setting up of this new alternate reality, and that's probably a good thing. I warn you now, don't get too emotionally involved in this story. The chances of my finishing it aren't very high. I have no follow though, I'm afraid.

**Disclaimer:** All characters and places you recognize belong to George Lucas. I'm just borrowing them, because I have absolutely nothing better to be doing with my life. Seriously.

**Summary:** Alternate Universe: 10 years after the purge of the Jedi, Qui-Gon Jinn finds himself alone and disillusioned, trying to atone for past mistakes. Fate has bigger plans for the galaxy's most wanted man, however, and it might just take a 12-year-old boy to get him on the right path.

_**Promise of the Jedi  
By: Reggie**_

_Chapter 1_

When it came right down to it, all refresher units were the same. It didn't matter the make or the model of the ship, there was only so much luxury one could add to a toilet and a shower. It also didn't matter how new the ship was; all ships had water that tasted like it'd been kept in a rusty containment unit for years. It was also all equally ineffective at washing out shampoo.

Of course it didn't help that he'd put too much of the goo into his hand. The amount poured was more habit than anything else, and not one broken on the first try.

He wished he could say that the hair cut had been necessary only because of the dirt and tangles that had occurred since he'd last had this opportunity, but after narrowly escaping that last bounty hunter Qui-Gon had been forced to admit defeat. His long hair and beard were too recognizable to keep.

When you're the most wanted man in the galaxy, familiarity will get you killed.

'A lesson learned too slowly,' the Master thought grimly, brushing a lock of stray hair back with a soapy hand. It fell forward again immediately, and he had to suppress another sigh of irritation. He'd told the droid to leave the front just long enough to tuck behind his ears. It shouldn't have been so difficult to understand.

The length of it mattered very little in the grand scheme of things, and Qui-Gon knew that. It was simply that it had been something familiar, nearly the last thing he had managed to keep from his past.

Complaining about it would neither rid him of the excess shampoo nor make his hair grow back any faster, so Qui-Gon proceeded to step fully under the spray and attempt to rinse it all out the best he could. There would probably still be bubbles later, but now at least it was clean and he was clean.

Clean and heading to Coruscant; the last place in the galaxy he wanted to be, but the place the only transport willing to carry a Jedi was heading. Years ago, it would have been considered an honor to have a Jedi on board. Now it was an act punishable by death, or worse, if caught.

Qui-Gon finished his shower quickly, and took the towel that had been hung nearby for his use. Some day, he would find a way to repay Senator Valorum for taking this risk, and for the small kindnesses the man had offered on the way. It was unexpected courage from the senator of the Lytton sector.

Once dry enough, Qui-Gon slipped into his clothing, which had been freshly laundered as well. That was a nice change. He couldn't remember the last time his tunics had been washed. The sleeveless under-tunic had also been completely replaced. How the senator had come across something in his size, Qui-Gon did not know, and found himself disinclined to ask. If Senator Valorum meant to betray him, at least he'd now be clean when he died.

If only the senator had thought to get him a new pair of pants. The ones he had were not his, originally, and were far too short for him. They barely fell past the tall Jedi's knees, covering the top half inch of his boots and no more. Perhaps while on Coruscant he could find some new ones.

Catching his reflection in the mirror as he slipped the grey poncho over his head, Qui-Gon made a face. "Master Dooku would be pleased. I've turned out to look just like him."

It was an accurate, if not entirely flattering description. With his new short hair and goatee, he could easily be mistaken for a younger version of his old Master. That could potentially work to his advantage. There weren't many Jedi left, but Qui-Gon's latest information told him that Dooku was still at large. Being mistaken for another Jedi was not ideal.

It was still better than being himself.

Dressed and feeling less like the outlaw he was with the dirt gone, Qui-Gon returned to the main cabin, where Senator Valorum was readying the ship for landing.

The man turned and smiled at Qui-Gon, his blue eyes lighting up when he saw the new look. "You appear to feel much better, Master Jedi. I trust everything worked well for you."

"Yes, thank you, it was more than adequate." Wonderful probably would have been a better word, but Qui-Gon doubted that anyone who lived in the obvious luxury Valorum did would understand. "I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me, Senator."

"Not all of us have forgotten the debt the galaxy owes the Jedi, Master Jinn," the man said mildly, his smile kind. "Your days as peace keeper were not so very long ago."

"Ten years," Qui-Gon answered. Ten years that seemed more than a life-time. The galaxy was so different now, under the iron fist of the Emperor and his apprentice.

Senator Valorum looked obviously surprised at this before he turned back to driving. "Has it been so long already? I must be getting older indeed if a decade seems so short."

Qui-Gon chose to say nothing to that. If the man's white hair was any indication, he was quite a bit older than the Jedi, and Qui-Gon himself would be reaching fifty very soon. It would be impolite to insult his gracious host.

"I'm sorry I could not take you some place better," the Senator said after a pause. "I had already filed my flight plan, and it would seem strange if I were to change it at the last moment."

"I am just grateful to get away from that place." It was the truth. Anywhere, even to the capital of the Empire, would be better than a place he'd been discovered. Coruscant, at least, was populated enough he could blend, could hide. The lower levels welcomed people like him—the hunted and the homeless. With any luck—something he, admittedly, rarely had—the Emperor would not think to look under his own nose.

"Out of the frying pan into the fire," Valorum cheerfully quoted. "We're approaching the fire now, Master Jedi, so I suggest you hide. We'll be landing in about twenty minutes, and everyone should be off the platform in fifteen after that."

Qui-Gon nodded, gracefully getting to his feet. "I am forever in your debt, Senator."

Valorum waved him off, turning his attention back to the controls. "Consider it my way of trying to restore the Republic."

Finding that there was nothing he could say to that, Qui-Gon retired to the sleeping quarters. No one was expected to search the ship, but if that should change the Jedi Master preferred to have some fighting room.

He did not sit on the sleeping couch, instead opting to kneel on the floor for some light meditation. Now, more than ever, he would need the help of the Force.

Currently, there was a whisper of danger there, but that was nothing new. The threat of danger and darkness had been a constant since the Order fell and the Empire came to power. It was only when the feeling intensified that Qui-Gon would grow worried.

He kept his meditation light, not daring to create more than the slightest ripple in the Force around him. Qui-Gon preferred not to make the hunt for him any easier, when he could help it. There was much work to do before he could be caught.

When the appropriate length of time had passed, the Jedi Master slowly stretched out his awareness, just enough to check the platform. True to Valorum's prediction, it was empty. It appeared things might be going in his favor, for once.

The thought only served to make Qui-Gon more alert than before. Things always started going right just before they got worse, in his experience. Being on Coruscant meant that the amount they could worsen was nearly endless. Not a pleasant thought. It was impossible for a being to be on alert all the time, he knew that. He still was going to try.

One quick motion assured him that his small side pouch, including the lightsaber he kept hidden there, was firmly attached. Adjusting his drab and travel-worn clothing to be as unnoticeable as possible, the Jedi Master stepped off to the planet he had not seen in ten years.

Coruscant was even busier than he remembered, which surprised him. Why would so many beings wish to be so close to the center of evil?

He supposed it did offer some measure of protection. The small armies that offered the Empire resistance were unlikely to ever make it this far in. Evil might be here, but war was not. When you were a refuge that meant everything.

The Jedi Master did not look around as he exited the platform. Partly because he did not want so seem confused or lost, but mostly because he could bare it. They were so close to the Senate building, and if he looked west he would see the Temple. Or the place the Temple should have been.

The lingering taste of smoke and death in the air was his imagination. Probably.

Whenever he had been on planet in the past, Qui-Gon had spent a lot of time in the lower levels. He had always made it a point to have friends down below. They were useful in a crisis, with resources the Jedi sometimes could not find, and with information they were willing to give him. Briefly, he allowed himself to wish that he knew which of these friends were still alive; which ones could still be trusted. He let it pass. There was no point in wishing things were different than they were.

At any rate, if there were any of his former allies who would still fit both those categories, he didn't wish to drag them into the danger his mere presence brought. Even if the Empire didn't look, he was always hounded by bounty hunters. There had been too many casualties already.

He would have to keep his head down and find his own accommodations. Food and shelter would require credits, which he didn't have at the moment. The first logical step, then, was to find a way to get some. There was the usual way of the lower levels of course—stealing, plundering, and illegal trade. Qui-Gon knew the system well and would have an advantage there.

However, he had not yet caved in to the darkness of the world around him. Even without the Order, he was still a Jedi. He would not give in to the darker side of the Force.

Of course, that limited his money making options to one. Finding a job. It wasn't an idea Qui-Gon particularly liked, as it meant he would inevitably have to get to know beings, which automatically put them in danger. It also meant that, should he have to flee quickly, there was someone who would be left behind. It left a trail.

It was that or starve to death, though, and he had no intention of going out in such an inglorious way after he'd fought so long and hard to stay alive.

The crowds thinned as Qui-Gon descended, one level at a time. There were some levels where even he, a Jedi Master, dared not go, but he still wanted to be as far from the surface as he could. Down countless stairs and lifts. Down to where there was no sunlight. Further than he'd travel as a Jedi. To where there was no need of Sith to bring evil. It came here alone. It was born here.

Qui-Gon had lost count of exactly how many levels down he had traveled, but he guessed it to be about thirty. That still left twenty below him, but if he went much further down he doubted he would be able to find any honest work at all.

He was still on Coruscant, but it may as well have been a different world down here. There was no sunlight down this far, the only illumination coming from the flickering lights and advertisements on the sides of buildings. None of these offered any heat, and it was colder down below than Qui-Gon had ever realized.

It was still crowded, but these beings were nothing like the glittering world of those above. There were not entourages. No fast paced speeders. Just people with worn and ragged faces, shuffling about with their shoulders hunched and eyes downcast.

Qui-Gon swiftly adopted a similar pose, not wishing to draw attention to himself. There was very little risk of this, really. No one so much as glanced in his direction. They had their own misery.

He followed the flow of the crowd, and though he kept his eyes down he missed nothing. He had come down in some kind of business center, most fortunately. Clubs and casinos lined the walks; their brightly colored and flashing signs attempting to draw in what the worn down and dank buildings would not.

As seedy as these places looked, Qui-Gon was glad to see them. Those types of places were always in need of security, and he was large enough that they might higher him on as lower staff to deal with small humanoids while larger aliens took care of…other, larger aliens. Barring that, it would not be difficult to persuade one of the owners to do so without raising any suspicions. The pay would be barely enough to sustain him, but he didn't need much, anyway.

His blue eyes scanned every building, attempting to find the one that looked the most profitable. In reality they all looked very much a like, and Qui-Gon couldn't help wondering how any of them stayed in business this far down when there were so many similar establishments above them. It probably had something to do with the cheaper real estate.

The ripple of the Force that came from one of the buildings nearly winded him.

It wasn't all that intense, really, but more the fact that it had happened at all. It was not the uncontrollable waves of an untrained Force Sensitive being; the kind that got them killed or taken. These were small ripples of someone in control of what they were doing. Not a master, no, but the level of at least a Jedi Initiate.

Qui-Gon turned his head in the direction his sense told him they had come from. First he saw the casino. Then he saw the help wanted sign.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "There are no accidents," Qui-Gon muttered to himself as he cut across the walkway. Seems he'd found himself a place to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hey guys! Thanks so much for the encouraging reviews. There seems to be a little confusion about when this takes place that I'm going to try and clear up now: in this verse, the purge of the Jedi takes place YEARS before it does in canon. Like…thirty-five years before, or so. You can calculate that out, if you want, and start to draw your own conclusions. More of what happened will be revealed with time. Promise!

Also, if you're interested, check out the homepage link in my profile for my DA page, which has character design sketches, among other fun things.

_**Promise of the Jedi  
By: Reggie**_

_Chapter 2_

It had taken very little use of the Force to convince the owner of the casino that Qui-Gon was the man he wanted to hire. All he'd really done was influence the man to give him a chance to do a demonstration. It hadn't taken much for him to beat the clumsy guards on duty.

The wages were ridiculously low, but he'd lost interest in the money for now. What Qui-Gon really wanted was to find the source of the Force disturbances he kept sensing.

For two days, as he prowled the casino floor, the ripples had come at random intervals. They were small enough to make them difficult to pin-point any further down than that they were in the building, and whatever tactic he tried Qui-Gon couldn't get it any more specific than that. They were definitely there, however, and that alone meant quite a lot.

It was important for Jedi not to live in the past; now more so than ever. The days of the Temple had long since vanished in the ashes. Qui-Gon knew this. It had been almost five years since he'd seen another Jedi. He'd heard rumors of some, like his former Master, but most were long dead.

That was part of his excitement. If there was another Force user, somewhere, with any amount of training, it meant that he was not alone. That should have been enough, really. He should be content with the knowledge that someone with some training existed. He wasn't. He couldn't be. He had to see; had to know how they'd survived all these years on the capital planet of the Empire without being captured and killed.

His blue eyes scanned the crowd, seeking the source as he felt the ripples again. A small motion of the hand, anything that seemed out of place on the busy gambling floor.

All he saw were the usual rabble of aliens and unwanted creatures that populated the casino's close quarters, the flashing lights and loud noises that accompanied the slot machines, and the dealers calling for bets and raising. The usual noise of the smoke filled building, and nothing more.

Qui-Gon began his circuit of the tables, even as he tried to release his feelings of frustration. It was a ritual of habit more than any allegiance to a long forgotten code. Still, he could not allow his feelings to cloud his senses, and block what might be a tiny clue. Searches of the slots the previous week had revealed nothing of the mysterious feelings, except that they stopped after a few hours, and that they only returned every third day or so. He'd drawn the conclusion from this that whoever his Force-wielding friend was, they were using their powers to cheat.

People were much easier to fool with the Force than machines, or else less likely to show signs of tampering, which was why Qui-Gon was now scouting out the tables.

Nothing here seemed too out of the ordinary. One blonde humanoid looked much to on edge not to be up to something, but Qui-Gon couldn't blame him for that. Betting against a Wookie would make anyone look that nervous.

There, the ripples again…

"Hit me up one more time, chief." The cocky voice carried over the crowd easily, breaking Qui-Gon's concentration. His eyes zeroed in on the source automatically, and it was all the Jedi could do not to roll his eyes.

The laws of the Republic that Qui-Gon had studied so hard in his youth didn't apply to the lower levels of Corusant. Kids, like the current focus of his annoyance, would have been removed as under-aged from any respectable institution. Here, they made up quite a percentage of patrons.

This particular boy Qui-Gon had seen several times before. He had distinctive ginger hair, cut short and held back from his face by a pair of fighter pilot goggles, that set him apart from many of his fellows. Actually, his overall appearance—dark leather vest over a sleeveless shirt, dark leather pants and boots, long leather and metal arm guards from wrist to elbows, a blasters on both hips, and a small knife holstered just above his right knee—made him easily recognizable.

The boy groaned good naturedly as the dealer showed the card she'd flipped. He'd obviously lost, but his bet had been small and he didn't seem to mind too much. Qui-Gon looked away, prepared to continue his search, when something else caught his eye. The boy wore a stone around his neck.

This alone wouldn't have been unusual, many of the younger ones wore jewelry, but Qui-Gon couldn't shake the feeling that he recognized that particular rock. As a young boy, Qui-Gon had found a very special stone in a river on his home planet, and had given it years ago to a friend. To her. To…

"_I'm not letting you go off alone like this. You think you're strong enough, and if it was anyone else you'd be right, but this time you're underestimating the strength of your heart."_

Qui-Gon winced as the memory invaded. He'd thought the sound of her voice long forgotten, but now that stone was acting as a medium for the dead.

"_Tahl, you're not coming. This is my mistake, and it is my responsibility to set it right."_

"_Alone?"_

"_Alone."_

Her face, her green-gold eyes, as she smiled at him sadly, flashed briefly through his mind.

"_I won't let you go without a promise that you'll come back."_

"_I can't do that. You know I can't."_

"_Yes, you can. You can say it. Come on, it will be easy. A promise that you will do what you have to, and come back."_

"_Tahl…I…" he reached into his cloak, removing from the inner pocket his stone that he always kept safe there. His rock from the River of Light. "I want you to keep this safe for me, until I return for it."_

"_That isn't a promise, but I'll take it."_

Smoke and ash and the smell of cooking flesh as the Temple burned that night invaded his nostrils, as strong now as it had been then. He had returned, but Tahl and the stone had not been waiting for him.

It was cut and polished now into a smooth crystal shape, but there was no mistaking the soft pulse of the Force the stone emitted when Qui-Gon brushed against it. His had been, to his knowledge, the only Force-sensitive rock in the galaxy, and there it was hanging around that boy's neck.

The boy in question now turned to look at him, and Qui-Gon realized, too late, that he'd been staring too long. He'd been noticed.

"Looks like I'm all tapped out for today," the boy said jovially, dropping from his stool to the floor as the others at the table groaned. The teen's only response to this was to grin and wave jovially. "I'll see you guys next week, yeah? Good."

Their eyes locked across the room for a moment, and it was clear the boy knew that Qui-Gon was after him. It was doubtful the teenager—if Qui-Gon could call him that, as he was very likely only eleven or twelve years old—knew the reason why the guard was after him, but that mattered very little. The fact that he'd obviously been gambling was enough.

With rather astonishing speed, the youngster disappeared into the crowd. An average guard would have lost him then, but Qui-Gon was better than that. He'd spent his life training in observation, and one quick flash of red-gold hair was all it took for him to know where the young boy was.

The Force user, his job, all of it was forgotten as Qui-Gon melted in to the crowd after the boy. He had to know where he'd gotten that stone. The boy would have been a toddler, at most, at the time of the Temple's destruction, and it was unlikely he'd gotten it from the ruins. Someone else must have had it before him.

The image of anyone taking his precious rock from Tahl's lifeless charred fingers made Qui-Gon's insides boil with rage. This, too, was habitually shoved aside, but the image it had created was not so easily removed.

On the crowded street it was much more difficult to follow the boy. He darted between people and shadows with an ease that came only from nativity. The child had grown up on these streets.

Part of the Jedi mourned that he felt nothing about this realization other than annoyance at the added advantage to the party he was pursuing. Years ago his heart would have felt pity for the child. To never have seen sunlight? To always live where you could not be safe? That was no kind of life. He should have felt something for the boy, but he didn't. Too many in the universe were like him, and this number grew everyday as the Empire expanded, and the Jedi were no longer present to act as peace-keepers.

One more person suffering in this galaxy made little difference.

Down one alley to the left, then quickly right again. Down one level, up two. When the path doubled back on itself for the third time, Qui-Gon had to admit that the boy knew he was being followed. No one was this paranoid.

They turned down a nearly deserted alley, and Qui-Gon was not surprised to see the boy turn to face him. Those eyes, looking grey in the dark light, glared up at him defiantly, even though the boy's body language screamed of nervousness. "Will you quit following me? I lost all my money today; I don't have anything to pay a fine or whatever you're after. Leave me alone."

"I'm not after your money." Startled by the near growl his voice came out as, Qui-Gon paused to collect himself. Clearly he had not pushed his anger away far enough. He swallowed and started again, trying to sound more pleasant. "I want information."

"I'm not a rat." The boy bared surprisingly white teeth as his fists clenched tight around his blaster. A not so subtle reminder that even small dogs could be vicious when cornered. "'Sides, I'm not with any of the gangs or nothin', if it's them you're after. Leave me in peace."

"I want information about you." Qui-Gon said flatly, taking a step into the boy's personal space.

To his surprise, the boy didn't even lean back away from his presence. He looked more nervous than before, certainly, but he didn't give an inch. "About me? Nothin' to tell. Nothin' of any interest to you, anyway. You best be moving along."

He was so tired of games. For years now that was all his life had been. Power games with crime lords he would sooner have locked in prison than accepted deals from. If it wasn't for his mission, he would have happily tried to fight the Empire alone. Died before allowing himself to be associated with those deeds and places.

No more games. Not with a small boy who had something that was rightfully his; a fragment of his past.

Qui-Gon's hand shot out, clutching the stone tightly and pulling the boy forward with it. It was warm in his palm. "This. I need to know where you got this."

The boy stared at him, eyes wide with panic. A slight whisper of warning in the Force, and Qui-Gon released him, lightsaber jumping to his hand as he whirled around, deflecting the blaster bolt that had been aimed at his back.

"Jedi!" The boy behind him gasped, and Qui-Gon mentally cursed. He could always claim that he'd killed a Jedi, and taken the weapon from him as a trophy. He'd done it before, and would obviously need to do so again.

Qui-Gon set his stance further as another hailstorm of blaster bolts rained down on him, and he worked to deflect them away from himself and the boy. Why hadn't the kid run when the attack started?

Of course. They were friends of his. So much for his claim of not being affiliated with a gang.

A slight roll of the Jedi's wrists angled the bolts better—back toward their source instead of wildly away. An explosion and a cry moments later told Qui-Gon his deflected bolt had found its mark.

"Bastard!" The sudden weight on his back took Qui-Gon by surprise. Had the boy just jumped on him?

A warm tingling at his neck distracted Qui-Gon momentarily, and he glanced down. In the boy's hand was the smallest lightsaber Qui-Gon had ever seen—more of a laser knife than the legendary Jedi blade.

"Do you really intend to fight me with that?" Size matters not was a lesson all Jedi learned very young, but really how much damage could he really do with such a thing? Once it was away from Qui-Gon's neck it would be of little trouble...and just one more thing to ask about.

Switching his lightsaber into his left hand, Qui-Gon used his right to call a lid to a nearby waste-can towards them. With a surprised cry, the boy released him and dodged away.

So much for saying he had killed a Jedi. At least Corusant was big enough that he could easily get lost again, on another level in another sector, once he had his answers.

The boy rolled to his feet, knife in one hand and a blaster in the other.

"Stand down, Obi-Wan. He's not our enemy." The voice from the shadows, quiet and low, startled even Qui-Gon. That was not the voice that had cried out. When had a third person arrived?

"He hurt Siri," the boy, Obi-Wan, shot back. "And he knows something about…"

"Well, I would hope so." A female disengaged from the shadows. She jingled as she walked, and once she'd stepped into the dim lights it was easy to see why. Over her formfitting clothing and in her long dark hair she wore more beads and bracelets than Qui-Gon had ever seen on one person.

It wasn't any of these that held Qui-Gon's attention. It was her eyes, brought out so strongly by layers of sparkling make-up. The tattoos there were wider and longer than the more modest designs of years ago, and there was weariness about the figure that hadn't been there in the past, but there was no mistaking those green gold eyes.

Lips painted deep red turned up at him in a grin. "It is, after all, his rock."

"Tahl." For him, her name was a whispered prayer. She was supposed to be dead. He knew this like he knew his own name. Everyone he loved was gone; dead or otherwise. How could she have survived the slaughter at the Temple? The fire that had consumed the bodies afterwards, erasing the Jedi completely? How had he not known?

"Obi-Wan was right about one thing Qui-Gon." Her grin widened as she stepped closer, but he couldn't move. "You are a bastard."

So certain was he that she was an apparition that he didn't even try and dodge when her fist shot out to connect with his nose. It was the last thing he saw.


End file.
